


Move Mountains

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for a prompt on tumblr. Even superheroes can't always make the differences between them shrink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Mountains

**Author's Note:**

> for tumblr user didsw (when your internet access comes back) hope you enjoy!

Miyaji’s heard people say they’d move metaphorical mountains for their loved ones before—he himself could move literal mountains, but that would do him no good right now. Even if he did clear the path between his location and Takao’s, even if he got all the distractions moved to the side so Takao could see him without the difficulty of having to find him, Miyaji still couldn’t see Takao and they couldn’t communicate; they couldn’t touch or talk face-to-face. Hell, even if he threw a pineapple all the way to where Takao is it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference. At this point all their powers do is drive them apart, force them to different cities to solve problems there—and realistically Miyaji knows that sometimes things happen that he needs to prioritize and it does feel good protecting others, but still. Why does having powers mean he has to be so damn selfless? Does it mean anything if he’s not choosing to be that way?

If only one of them had speed or teleportation powers, then they could steal moments at night, quick visits—it wouldn’t be much but it would be better than this hell, eating takeout alone in an empty apartment for the hundredth night in a row and then falling asleep at night and thinking about how nice it would be to have the person he loves next to him. They can’t even call that often because they’re both so tired and need to be on call for the job anyway that when they do it’s mostly listening to each other breathing. Even a motormouth kid like Takao is too exhausted to talk all the time, and this job is too fucking much for him—he should be doing something else, something less taxing that gives him space to be himself. But there aren’t that many options for people with powers in the first place, so there’s nothing either of them can really do.  
Sometimes Miyaji just wants to run away, take Takao off to the middle of nowhere so they can live off the land, using their powers to kill wild animals for meat and find edible plants and make sure no one ever finds them, but it’s too impractical now to even think of getting away; the government has too many psychics and people with powers like Takao’s and surveillance machines to ever really make that practical. And it’s not goddamn fair, that their lives are stretched and pulled like this, in ways they’ve never wanted, because this is not what they signed up for. But it seems as if there’s no real way out, that they’re doomed to this forever.

But Miyaji’s not going to let himself think like that, because sinks of negativity are for pessimistic losers, which he definitely is not. Even if there’s no clear way out now, he’s not going to find one by despairing where he is.

* * *

 

The last time they were together was a few months and change ago, the day Takao had been “promoted” and transferred to another city’s group because they were in need of a sight guy with experience and Takao fit the bill. Miyaji had punched another hole in the alley wall, this one deeper and wider like a giant impact crater from an object barely small enough to not just blow everything to smithereens, and Takao had seen him, of course—Takao always sees him this close, and even if he hadn’t had that kind of eyesight he’d have seen. Takao had hugged him, pressed his face to Miyaji’s chest like he was trying to get a wax impression, and Miyaji had kissed the top of his head.

“What the fuck is this leadership nonsense anyway? Code for can’t shut up?”

Takao had sighed and hugged him tighter, and fuck. Were his shoulders shaking? Miyaji had always been shit at dealing with emotions, especially when people cried—it was Takao who always took care of that stuff at the scene, comforting bystanders and contributing to their excellent public relations and fuck. What was their team going to do without him? What was Miyaji going to do without him? There was no one else he was close to at all here; the rest of the team was just made of friendly colleagues and no one else he knew lived around here and he didn’t have spare time to spend making friends with random strangers and hadn’t really wanted to do that in the first place. And even so that wasn’t taking into account all the things Takao was to him, and fuck was he turning into a sap but it was fucking true.

“I don’t want to leave,” Takao had said, half-muffled, and any other time Miyaji would have considered yelling at him for not speaking clearly, but—when would they see each other again? When would they get to be this close again?

Right as Takao was getting in the car to the airport, Miyaji had finally let go of him.

“Don’t fuck it up, kid. Our reputation’s in our hands.”

Takao had feebly grinned back, and then, “I love you!”

“I love you, too, brat.”

And then Takao had smiled fully and beautifully and Miyaji had felt like pulling him out and then punching the car into the fucking moon.

* * *

 

The phone rings; Miyaji’s half-asleep at the table with his face almost falling into the remains of his dinner. If it had been anyone other than Takao (and maybe his brother) Miyaji wouldn’t answer unless they’d called back, but as it is he fumbles for the screen and presses it to his ear.

“Hey, kid.”

“Kiyo-chan!”

He sounds excited, more than he has to Miyaji’s ears since before they knew they’d be separated.

“What’s up?” He stifles a yawn.

“I’m coming home.”

“You’re coming—what.”

Miyaji slams his elbow to the table, right on his funny bone, and knocks the chopsticks to the floor.

“What? How?”

“They’re transferring me back. I don’t know how; I’m not going to question it too much—I’m coming back next week.”

“Next week.”

His mouth feels kind of numb and it’s spreading into a ridiculous grin, but fuck.

“You’re coming home.”

Takao laughs on the other end, and it’s wonderful and Miyaji wishes he could reach over and knock his forehead or ruffle his hair but he’ll have to settle for waiting another week or so and it’s probably going to feel like the longest fucking week of his life but it still won’t be as bad as these last few months and no matter how shitty it is he’s going to have Takao back in his arms soon and that will be enough for now.


End file.
